A Home
by 1000th Ghost
Summary: "So, she needs...a home?" What if Belle really did need a home? And then arrived cold and filthy, and the only thing to do was to give her a bath?


**A Home**

**By: 1000th Ghost**

"Well...after she got home, her fiancé had gone missing. And after her stay here...her...'association' with you...no one would want her, of course. Her father shunned her. Cut her off, shut her out."

"So, she needs...a-a h-h-home?"

If it could ever be said that The Great and Powerful (and evil) Rumplestiltskin looked like an innocent, confused, and crushingly hopeful little boy, it was at that moment.

"I suppose she does. But everyone knows that you're certainly not...'offering' anymore." The queen smirked. "Using a girl for your own pleasure and then casting her out when she falls for you?" She tisked mockingly. "Seems a bit cruel even for you, Rumple."

"T-they think I..." He paused. "Violated her?"

A shrug. "You say 'seduce', they say 'abuse'. The same thing, really. Either way, she's tainted."

His eyes lowered. "Well, _I_ still want her."

The queen dropped her hands to her sides, looking utterly bored. "Oh, of course, you do, you stupid imp. A Beauty that actually was willing to love a Beast?"

"I never did bed her, you know," he said, still fixated on this point. "It is unreasonable that people say so."

"I don't believe you," the queen said flatly, "and neither would anyone else. She's probably touched in the head - which is the best you could ever hope for in a girl, I guess. Someone insane enough to want-" She looked him up and down and grimaced. "-_you_."

She was gone with a cackle and a slam of the heavy doors, and Rumplestiltskin for a moment thought that the greatest wrongdoing he had done was not believing that she _did_ love him, but the thought was quickly pushed aside because she needed a home.

So many things (That he loved her, and she didn't know it, That she loved him, and he had rejected her, That true love's kiss was out of the question) seemed of such little importance now. The only image in his head was of his pitifully beautiful Belle somewhere with no food and no warmth and no house. And he had a castle big enough to house a hundred Belles, and surely one would have enough life to somehow fill up the rest of the space.

The spell was a simple (if ridiculous) one. It turned the object nearest the desired person into a mode of transportation. It usually was best if the object made sense (a pumpkin into a coach was always popular), but in her case, it was a tombstone. The name was undecipherable, the stone had been stretched so and morphed into a wagon-like structure.

"Where were you?" was the first thing he murmured when she arrived unwillingly at his front door, entirely puzzled that _this_ should be her closest object.

"The cemetery." Her voice was cracked and nearly gone from the cold or crying or something.

"Cemetery?" he repeated dumbly.

"Some of the stones are fallen over; I was using one as a..." She trailed off for a second, as if realizing how either despondent or inane she sounded. "...blanket, maybe."

He was silent.

She was here, and that was grand, but he hadn't really put much thought into what he was going to do next. But her hair was tangled and her dress - the gold gown that once had looked so worthy of her royal title - was torn. Never mind, he would spin her a new dress made of solid gold. One with a cinched waist and a _much _lower neckline and sleeves that threatened to fall off her shoulders and...

Yes. Well. A new dress. He'd get on that.

She was staring at him expectantly, and though freezing and brokenhearted, the sweet girl's eyes still positively _shone _with love. Maybe she was indeed touched in the head, for he had certainly done nothing to deserve her love.

And maybe the queen was right, and he didn't care one inch if Belle was slightly unhinged.

"You're cold," he said, and his voice sounded cold as well, which was not at all what he had intended. "Come in."

She looked like she might want to refuse or at least retort in some fashion, but she _was _cold and frankly miserable, and the house was warmer than the winter weather, and whatever the motive of the man-monster in front of her was, she stumbled from the morbid carriage and stepped inside.

The doors' click behind her was deafeningly loud, and the first thought in her head was whether or not she would ever be outside the castle again.

"You're filthy." Oh, she was cold, she was filthy, he was on a roll with the obvious and potentially insulting observations, wasn't he? "I'll draw you a bath."

He literally did draw her a bath. He took her to the West Wing, where she had previously never been allowed, and in a small room connecting his bedroom and his laboratory, he drew the outline of a tub on the wall with a piece of charcoal, and she watched in amazement as a lovely, steaming bath popped out, all ready for her.

He went behind her with the perfectly innocent intention of unlacing her dress, but then his hands were on her waist, and he moved her hips into him. She made a questioning sound, and he told her to shut up and buried his nose in her matted hair and just _breathed _her. Long, deep breaths of her essence, beautiful Belle's essence.

"They think I brought you here for more than just housekeeping, dearie, have you heard? Of course, you have, that's why you're here. Because you've been touched by a monster, and no mere mortal wants to put his hands on the monster's property."

The gown was unlaced and sliding down her torso.

"It's no use trying to tell them the truth. And you wanted it to be the truth, _didn't you_?! Didn't you, Belle?" His hand was around her neck, the fingers pressing in just enough so that she couldn't break away. "You wanted me to be the carnal Beast, the immoral Beast that everyone assumed I was. You talked on and on of how I wasn't, how you knew I was really good inside, and all the time, you insufferable girl, you wanted me to live up to my horrid reputation."

The dress was around her waist now, and she made a motion to cover her bare breasts. He blocked her hands and quickly murmured, "We're past meaningless modesty. I think we always have been." Then there were no more words between them until she was completely unclothed in the foggy, wet bathroom.

He held her hand as she daintily put one foot in and then the other, and then she seemed to just sink, disappear and fold into the cleansing water, and she was crying and broken.

Rumplestiltskin did not hug, but he reasoned that this was not a hug, this was more of a signal of possession, and if she happened to take comfort in it, well, what did that say about her?

He washed her with long, lazy strokes, marveling at tiny things. The hairs on her arms, a scrape on her thigh, the curves of her toes. He washed her breast, and she stared at him, and he said, "Don't look at me like that," mostly because he did not deserve for her to look at him in _any_ way, much less that way. He washed her neck, and a dreamy sigh flew from her lips, and he caught it with his own, which were as absolutely close to hers as they could possibly be without actually touching.

When she was sufficiently rosy and smelled like flowers, he wrapped an arm around her waist and hoisted her out of the bath. At some point he had removed his jacket and at another his vest so as not to get water on them, and now he took off his shirt and gave it to her to wear in lieu of the wondrous dress he had yet to create. It went just past her hips, and the sleeves were comically big, and she looked good enough to eat. He put his vest on again, though he didn't really want to, the bathroom was so humid. He left it unfastened in the front, and weren't they a pair, he mused, catching sight of their reflections as they passed a mirror. His arm around her as he led her out of the room, her sopping hair wetting the shirt and leaving it very transparent in places, both of their less-than-decent attire.

But absolutely what of it? If anyone saw her...well, no one ever would see her again.

Hmm.

He supposed that the notion had been concretely there in his head since he had first learned that she needed a home but hadn't fully turned into conscious words until right now.

He brought them to a parlor with a large, crackling fireplace, which was needed since their bizarre clothing was so insufficient.

There was a large, leather arm chair, and he sat down first and then pulled her down, almost in his lap but not quite.

"Why did you want me to come back?" she spoke, and it sounded so bloody familiar, and he knew the response, he was supposed to kiss her. And suddenly, he didn't care about his wretched curse or power or really much of anything that did not relate to those beautiful, red lips joined to his eager, scaly, completely unworthy ones, and not gentle and hesitant as her kiss had been but desperate and eternal and so unquenchable that their meager clothes would be discarded, and the floor would serve as their marriage bed.

But he ended up kissing her palm because it was in his way.

"I know you don't want to give up magic," and, no, he didn't, but he didn't want to give up her either. She didn't seem to mind the lack of kissing though and wrapped her little arms through and around the crook of his elbow and asked again, "Why do you want me?"

"Because you wanted me," was the answer.

"I think," she said thoughtfully, "it's because now I really and truly belong to only you."

That was true. Even if she hated him, even if he mistreated her, even if the possibility of romance had not entered into either one of their heads, now they had no other choice but to be together simply because everyone assumed that he had already branded her. They were only catching up on what the public thought had happened long ago.

"And do you mind that?" he asked, slightly fearful of her response but realizing that he would make her his regardless. "Never leaving the castle again? Never knowing another soul but me as long as you live? Giving your heart to me because there is no one else to give it to?"

Belle smiled. "That's all I've wanted since the beginning."

He kissed her hand, her forehead, her jaw, and whispered, "Welcome home."

**The End**


End file.
